In Search of Nolkai
by Thairalumen
Summary: A young Draenei begins her training near the crash site of the Exodar, ends up finding a weathered map. Where will her adventures lead? Dedicated to all those who have been left curious by the quests involving the long-lost Nolkai.
1. 1 - Traces of the Past

_DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE WORLD OF WARCRAFT OR ANYTHING WITHIN IT, save for my experiences there. Some material here is directly copied from the quest-texts: related conversations and ___in-game _speech as found on the game support pages and Wiki. This is not done to plagiarise as my own work, but on the contrary, to give backbone to a story intended to flesh out part of the game's lore. Some of it has been modified and added to, in order to integrate it with the tale._

_This story is dedicated to all those who started as Draenei on Azuremyst Isle, and are left wondering who Nolkai is, and what happened to his people._

* * *

_IN SEARCH OF NOLKAI_

* * *

It had been several weeks since she had emerged, dazed yet unhurt, from the debris of the magnificent mother ship, The Exodar, which had delivered her fleeing nation to the safety of this new world known as Azeroth.  
The period of time between the crash and her current awakening was a blank. Well, almost a blank. There were hazy landscapes of light, interspersed with pink mists, which could have been due to a glimpse or two she had had of the crystalline interior of the healing halls. The words spoken softly by her people over her ailing head were awash with echoes, fading into each other like one wave of the ocean into another:

'It is a good thing...'

'Has the family ... survived..?'

'I forgot my disc of family records...How could I?'

'...brother, maybe...his records..'

'..help here, please..'

'She shall be ready soon...'

'..will ...lapse..in..memory..'

'.. by the Light..'

'She lives..'

'...a good thing..'

'..gained..another child..'

'..a good thing..'

Thus time passed for an unknown period to her, so that by the time she finally regained herself and stood in the doorway to the recruitment camp, her now-ravaged homeland of Draenor was all but forgotten in the aftershock of the impact of The Exodar's abrupt introduction to Azeroth. It was challenging enough to get accustomed to her new environs, whose air itself 'tasted' so different than what her lungs had known. Azuremyst, it was called in the common tongue of the planet. The colouring of the vegetation was off, a bit too dark, like something had infected it with a sort of plague, for which she found out her people were partly to blame: what had once been a lush green little paradise of an island was now in danger of being polluted by the fallout of energy and crystals from The Exodar, already warping some of the local flora and fauna into less-than-friendly versions of themselves. The twisted beasts that had emerged from around the scattered energy crystals of the ship did nothing to improve the situation, which was far worse in the even more eerie and unwelcoming Bloodmyst Isle to the north. To make things more complicated, an uncanny local race, of four limbs, two pointy ears accentuated by a pair of flying eyebrows, and no end of mischief, had set up various camps on both islands, being a thorn in the side of her people to the degree of an outright threat- for their leader had consorted with the very enemy that had led to her nation's exile, and consequent name-change from Eredar to Draenei long before they left their home planet of Argus for that of Draenor, and now, Azeroth.

But that was not her chief concern at the moment. A silvery ring, inlaid with a turquoise metal of some sort, had withstood the test of time to finally find its way into her fine white hands. The obscure beginnings of her adventure began while scouting the shores. She had come upon a tiny being and his companions who had set up camp inside the shell of an oversized tortoise. In the Common tongue whose basics her people had begun to learn after landing on their new home, he had enthusiastically introduced himself as a digger of artifacts of sorts, under some pompous title she did not recall, and cheerfully requested that she collect some form of essence from the dangerous and irritable slimy water-creatures that infested the shores of the two isles. In doing so, she had come upon a strange find: a weathered map, marking a place on what appeared to be the northern isle. The crudely-drawn map revealed nothing of its maker, but appeared to have been drawn with an unsteady hand. Wavering lines and symbols depicted a small pavilion with broken columns located to the west of a partially submerged tower.

If the map was to be believed, this cluster of ruins appeared to be located on the eastern coast of the island. What was there to be found? She had no idea, but it was important enough for the map's creator to record. Yet the thought of venturing deeper into the aptly-named Bloodmyst Isle made her skin crawl. Deformed beasts, angry bears, demonic beings, aggressive elementals, disease-infested animals and plants of all kinds made it a very unpleasant place. Even the beautiful beings of four limbs and flying eyebrows seemed to have more viciousness in them here. The energy that had seeped from The Exodar's power crystals into the land was taking hold of everything else, and not agreeing with anything it touched. No harsher sign of their being aliens in a new world, she thought bitterly.

Nonetheless, this map was a clue as to the lay of the land. The Draenei, being newcomers to this planet, could not ignore any piece of information, no matter how small. It could be a wild goose chase, it could be fruitful. In either case, she had to let someone know she was going off-course, so she took counsel with her people at the base they had set up on the miserable northern island, aptly named Blood Watch, checked her bearings, and set off, sticking to the scrambling path as best she could, for she found less interruptions from the aggressive inhabitants of the land when she did so.

The map led her to the eastern shores of the disturbingly blood-red isle, where stood- in stark contrast to the diseased corruption of the land- tall, white marble towers and lofty buildings: edifices of a civilisation whose abandonment, judging by the refinement of its structure, was a pitiful loss. She wished that its makers had survived. She was almost sure they would have made life far more bearable for her and her people than the slithering, snake-bodied, two-armed hissing army of monsters that now filled the place, and whom she had to eliminate for her own safety if nothing else. Her encounters with them made that wish even more stronger as she flung one spell after another in an attempt to come closer to her target destination.

The warrior-monsters left little time for observation so long as they were alive. But once she had felled enough of them to take a breath, she took a look around herself. Slithery things like these could not have possibly been able to mine and lift so much stone, cut it in such graceful form, arrange it in such beautiful buildings, and leave behind an impression which openly hinted at a stargazing nation, high of mind in both art and knowledge.

They would have gotten along well, her people and whoever made these places, she thought as she neared the place marked on the map. Was this parchment as old as the buildings? Or was it merely a latter-day mercenary's treasure-hunting tool? The answer would come later, for she found what she came for: it was a book, bound in rose-coloured leather of a shimmering, swirling pattern, a spine with bands of gold, its cover embossed and studded with golden symbols. Perhaps this was what the map was referencing. She did not wait for further acquaintance with the scaled monsters, but hurried back to her people's camp on the Isle, where she caught her breath, refreshed herself, and sat down with the book on her lap. She opened it, and found it full of elegant script, differing from the unsteady scrawl of the map. Judging by its beauty, it must have belonged to a member of the civilisation that had left behind such equally elegant architecture, and, therefore, probably much more ancient.

How had it survived? The pages had somehow avoided being touched by the hand of Time. There was any number of ways in which one could preserve an object, both physical and arcane. Examining the book carefully, she concluded that it must have been a journal. But wait, many of the pages were obscured by drawings and writing in the mapmaker's hand. She put the journal down on her lap with a frown. It was a good thing the mapmaker was not anywhere near at hand at that moment. Suddenly, she wondered whether she oughtn't show this to the artifact-digging small creature, to check if it were him, at the same instant understanding why she did not. Even if it were, indeed, the small creature's map, and his handwriting in the book, she didn't think that she would leave the journal- or the map, in his destructive little hands. One who had no respect for the past had no place digging it up. Another look at the text confirmed her attitude: it was nearly impossible to make out the text beneath the ..mapmaker's tales of drunken carousing during shore leave? How did she understand that? Was this the common tongue?

Yet it was because of the elegant script that her curiosity was piqued, and her heart beat a little faster- had she gotten a little closer to the people who had left behind such a beautiful civilisation? She could not, however, find out on her own. This was a scholar's task, and there was just such a scholar among her people at Blood Watch: the Anchorite Paetheus, whose knowledge of healing arts was vast, augmented by his interest in all world civilisations. He had kept his collection of cultural relics despite the migration and the crash. She took the book to him. The monumentally-proportioned Draenei elder in his white robes looked upon her, and knew there was something afoot by the gleam in her eye.

This being their first meeting, he greeted her formally nonetheless, saying, 'The Light shine upon you in all your endeavors, young one.' His gaze went to her hands. 'What is it you have there?'

She bowed, and presented him with the journal.

'Hmm... this is most intriguing. Yes, I should be able to make out what the original author wrote in the pages of this book.'

She held back the need to clap in delight, clamped her mouth shut and listened.

'I should have everything I need for the process. This should only take a moment.'


	2. 2 - Unravelling The Mystery

For those who are foreign to the ways of the children of Argus, "a moment" in this case is Draenei polite form for 'quite a while, but it is necessary for this situation, so please wait.' Translation being what it is, it rarely took 'a moment' as the good elder so politely stated. It would take a deal more. As for the Anchorite, his normally heavy step and dignified gait quickened, which spoke of his excitement as he went to his makeshift study. This was a hint, a sign. The land had begun to speak. He was delighted, and set to decoding and translating the language. She bowed and said, "I will return," a statement recognised and dismissed by a quick, absentminded nod of someone intent on another subject entirely.

Instead of disturbing him, she decided she would take care of herself. So she bathed, checked and treated whatever cuts or bruises that may have needed tending, changed into a clean set of clothes, checked her tools and gear, and took them to be repaired and cleaned. Before going back to the Anchorite, she cleansed herself once more, took a drink of water, and meditated by a nearby pool until her mind was clear and refreshed once more, ready for more magic. She got up and went to the Anchorite's study.

She found him in a state of quiet contentment. He had claimed victory in his contest against another language, and all was now clear to him. When he saw her, he stood up and reached for his notes, inserted into the pages of the book.

'Now, let's see...'

His powerful blue hands handled the fragile pages delicately, the way he treated his patients.

'In the process of translating this, I believe I've learned more about the drunken exploits of a certain 'Andrew Clementine' than about the journal's author.'

Her eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with irritation for a moment. She was expecting some silliness on part of the person who had scribbled all over the fine writing, but not this much. Seeing her expression, Anchorite Paetheus suppressed a chuckle under pretext of clearing his throat, and continued.

'But, no matter. Mister Clementine's... er, 'contribution' notwithstanding, this seems to be the journal of a man named Nolkai. The entries toward the end describe a brutal battle.'

His expression sombre, he extended the text for her to see.

'Take a look at this passage...'

He handed her the translated script, and she read,

_"The enemy is nearly upon us. We've gathered up all the survivors and retreated to the temple to the east. It's the last ground we truly hold on the island, and there is a sense among the survivors that we will make our last stand here. I've taken care to bury my last few possessions on the grounds of the temple, with the hope that someone will find them and know what happened here."_

Her hands fell, almost dropping the text. This was a sad thing. A sad thing to happen, a sad thing to know. The Anchorite read her features, and understood. He understood far more than she did, for, unlike her, his memories of the loss of their homeland were loud and clear. She carefully replaced the translated text, bowed to the Anchorite, and requested he keep the precious book- a fair payment for his assistance, and a fitting gift for his station.

She remembered all that had passed in her obtaining the journal, and was lost in thought for a moment of silence before she recovered herself, and described the pavilion and her fight with them to him. They discussed what they both had found.

The owner of the journal-for such it was that she had found- was one Nolkai, one of the souls who had lived upon the isle long before her people had come. The buildings she had so admired were the remnants of a temple of his nation before it fell to "the enemy", which could have been the serpent-beasts, or could have been anyone or anything else. Nolkai had asked whoever read the journal to find his belongings, which he had buried near "The Place" as she had begun to call it in her mind. Such a simple and humble request, yet it was the last will and testament of one who had lost his home. Very much like her own people. Was their new home the setting for yet another great tragedy? How many more souls were hurt this way, on this world, and on others? This one, this one being, seeing that he and his people will die and be forgotten, had reached out into the void of oblivion, beyond death, using the one thing they could- writing what they had experienced. After an immense measure of time, she was the first he had reached. She, of all people and things that lived. The idea of being so close to someone who had the same fate as hers, displaced over time and space, hurt.

'Who is this Nolkai?' she almost demanded of the Anchorite, quite forgetting her place in her sorrow and anger.

A brow rose and fell at the tone of her voice, but knowing her reasons, elder Paetheus did not go beyond this in admonishment. She noticed, and lowered her gaze in apology.

He mused, and replied, "Judging by his penmanship and vocabulary, he must have been quite the scholar, if not an outright aristocrat. His manner of speech, however, is too practical for those accustomed to show and luxury. It is almost military in mind. Its logic is clear and simple, and despite being in a life-or-death situation where death was certain- see here, the hand that wrote this never wavered once."

Surely enough, the handwriting remained as clear and as beautiful as it was on the first page. 'This man had great control over his own mind. I would say he was a scientist or a mage of his folk, if they knew these arts. He could also have been a priest, but there are no forms of implorations, invocations or pleas to any god or deity whatsoever, so most likely a man of knowledge rather than faith.' He paused, wistful, feeling as if he had lost the opportunity to have met a great friend. That small silence spoke for him, and she understood, waiting patiently. He straightened his posture and resumed,'From what you say, they had enough architectural skills to build towers and arches.'

She nodded, and, after a thought said, 'Who was this "enemy" '?

There was a short, mutual pause in which they both considered, but refused to speak their common minds. It could have been the same enemy that drove half their nation to evil and the other half to flee, leaving their burning world behind.

She dared break the mutual silence.

'Was it..?'

'It is possible, for they seem ancient. We cannot tell without analysing some samples of their relics. But it is also possible that this world has its own evils.'

'What had happened to his people? Did any survive?'

'Most probably they all died if we are to trust our steady-handed, clear-minded, brave Master Nolkai. If any did survive, I would be most glad to meet them. Shelter and protect them, too, if we can. But I doubt they have lived for so long, unless they are immortal, if such a thing exists, as it sometimes can.'

She did not give up. 'Would we be able to meet their descendants if we explored further?'

He smiled at her. This is why every race needed a new generation as often as possible. 'Who knows? I most certainly hope so. I think we may be lucky and meet them further outland. Perhaps overseas. But be well prepared when exploring, and always let us know beforehand.'

This was a fine idea. She would do her best to find them. Perhaps the strange creatures with the flying eyebrows and obsession for big, arcane red gems in their camps knew. Was it them? Light, no, it couldn't , they were beautiful, wore beautiful clothes, built beautiful towers of their own, showed and wielded considerable power - but they lacked a sense of...solidity? Constancy? Eternity? as was shown in the white ruins she had found. No, these beings were different. There was a certain worldly opulence in the lines of all they were, made and also carried a hint of weakness. Was it the way they clung to whatever sources of power they could find? It was almost pathetic to see them huddle -whatever brave name they themselves might call it- around the massive, chained red crystals in their settlements. The Draenei _manipulated_ crystals and energy, not consumed them. How did she sense this clawing weakness? Was it the way they died with such refusal and rejection at her hands?

They were magnificent, flamboyant, majestic, vain: _above _the land and its powers, not _derived_ from it. It is as if their presence was a luxurious privilege to all those who experienced it, whereas these others, the buildings and writings of Nolkai and his people, made one feel drawn to them. She _wanted_ to be there, transported into an orderly, calm realm between the spirit, magic, and the power of life. They were not only derived of the land, they connected to it fully, to all that lived. Yet it felt as though only few were truly welcome as one of their own. They would not reject, they would not invite, but call upon one to come witness their marvels, and submit to the greater being, the greater order that made and ruled all that is, yet never as one of themselves. They were far too deeply rooted in their own world, in their own ways, in their own connection to their world, for far too long. Theirs was not a distance of arrogance, but of inwardness. Yet those odd few they accepted, they sheltered and nurtured with their very life force, at cost of their own peril where necessary. These would have been the greatest of allies, and the best of friends, had they lived.

She could see this in the way vines and plants had clung and thrived upon the white walls of the temple and other buildings. All other life had gotten poisoned by the alien energy that ate into the life essence of the island, changing colour, and even acquiring another, sinister spirit, whereas the plant life in the ruins remained pure of essence.

She shared her thoughts.

Anchorite Paetheus stood silent for a good while before speaking.

'It seems you have touched the hearts of two different nations, young one. It is not so easy to glean the spirit of a people from such little contact. The vines and small clumps of plants inside the buildings thrive, you say? That is interesting. It could be very useful information. We should report it. All this shall be reported, of course,' he said, the roles of archivist and officer coming together in him.

She nodded her embarrassed thanks, and asked, 'Would these enemies with the flying brows and red gems know?'

Anchorite Paetheus' own brows met in disagreement. 'I should think not. It is possible, but, ..no. Not is only an assumption, but they do not seem to be the same...'

'What I have seen of Nolkai's folk would only bolster that assumption,' she affirmed.

'How about this "enemy". Was it the slithery warriors?'

'You mean the Naga? Were the Naga as ancient as these buildings you speak of?'

'I do not know. I need to they are, then they must know. But to capture and question one of them would take a small army, from what I have seen. I do not know if they speak any language we do, " she added at the end.

'Let us say they are as ancient as the events described by Master Nolkai. Why didn't they conquer all the isles during this time?'

'Something must have stopped them.'

'Yes, but what? Did you see them anywhere else on the isles?"

'No, sir. There were no such reports to my knowledge."

'Nor to mine. Hold a moment... Tracker Lyceon!' he called out to a leather-clad Draenei passing nearby, who stopped and turned.

Anchorite Paetheus went out to meet him, and she followed. 'Light grace your path. Our young one here says she has seen and fought the Naga in the Eastern shores- ' Lyceon's back straightened, muscles taut.

'Do you know if they were reported seen anywhere else?' continued the Anchorite, pretending not to notice.

Lyceon's pale eyes raked the young Draenei in assessment, as if disbelieving she could contend with such formidable enemies without assistance. His deep voice came reluctantly from his chest. 'No, neither I, nor other trackers nor their outrunners have reported Naga being anywhere else. What is your business with them?'

The Anchorite explained briefly, and the Tracker nodded, then looked back towards her, his gaze slightly more respectful and less assessive this time. He addressed her directly.

'You sure you can manage on your own?'

'So far, sir.'

'Let me know if you need an escort. I will round up a fellow or two.'

'Thank you, sir.'

He turned to the Anchorite. 'Sending a young one to her death as soon as we arrive? Leave the dirty work to us elders.'

She tried to protest. 'I- '

'She is learning, as we all are, Master Lyceon. Better start early.'

'Hmph.'

The ranger left them with less than warm feelings, but, just as they returned to the study, she caught him out of the corner of her eye, speaking with two other rangers, indicating the study, then the direction of the temple with his head as the others nodded. A second glance to the other side enabled her to see yet three others join in the conversation, which attracted the attention of one of the vindicators.

'Looks like there is going to be a heavy patrol at The Place today,' she said.

The Anchorite peered from behind his doorway curtain and saw the scene of gathering paladins and rangers. 'Seems like it,' he smiled. 'Stirring a hornet's nest, are we, young one?'

'Looks like I had better get there before they do. No need to make a fuss.'

The Anchorite chuckled.  
'Ohoho! How solitary and sneaky of you! Are you sure you are not better suited for another path in life?'

'Sir?' She was flustered. Stealth and skulduggery, well. Not much suited to a student of the arcane arts, though the occasional invisibility spell did save her hide. More than once, she remembered uncomfortably, grateful for the skill.

'The Naga..' she continued.

'Yes, little one.'

_Little one._

She blushed at this, feeling like a child who was being praised by an elder with a gentle pat on the head. Draenei children being so small, their elders' hands could be like umbrellas of a kind- a shelter. It felt nice, but it was somewhat embarrassing to enjoy such shelter at her age. 'Why did they remain within the boundaries of the temple and..' she faltered. '..similar buildings under the sea?'

The Anchorite's gaze suddenly became sharper as she continued, 'Did "the enemy" use magics so powerful that the earth itself was broken? It did not seem like a natural break in the rock..'

'Underwater, you mean the land was larger than it seems?'

'Yes, sir. It extends towards a further set of buildings underwater. I also think I saw some islands further out eastwards.'

He leant forward onto his desk, planting both hands upon it.

'It seems we have much more than we bargained for.'

'What could that be, sir?'

Anchorite Paetheus turned, his serious gaze twinkled with a little mischief.

'Why not ask Master Nolkai himself?'

'Pardon, sir?'

'Fulfil his wishes,' he declared. 'Find his things, and bring them to us. Let us see what he has to say.'

'Yes, sir!'

She bowed formally and left on her quest for Nolkai and his people.


	3. 3 - The Hunt for Truth

Time was not on her side. The patrol team had developed into a small but fully-fledged military unit, with scouts in the front, melee and ranged combatants in the centre, and spellcasters followed by a group of heavy ranged combatants who were also known for their hand-to-hand combat skills. A full squad.

There was strength in numbers, that was certain, but somehow it felt like barging in with an army would only ruin the chances of extracting what she wanted from The Place without damaging it.

Before anyone caught her gaze, she slipped away westwards, where she exercised her invisibility spell, and ran as quickly as she could towards the east, skirting Blood Watch and making a diagonal beeline for The Place. She may not be faster than rangers, but she was not attached to anyone, and therefore had made headway and reached the temple before they did. She skirted it by going down towards the eastern shore, avoiding the bears that lived in the woods between the hill and the sea. Then she climbed up to it from its south, thereby avoiding the bulk of the Naga forces that patrolled the area. There was no time to waste on them. Her people were coming, and would have plenty of death to deal out to these creatures, but she could not afford any interruptions. Once she reached the skirts of the temple hill, she used her invisibility again to circle around the temple ground, and started attacking the solitary Naga guards from the east inwards. Sharp and sure as an arrow, she hit them from behind, using their lack of attention against them. Her urgency forced her to fight with even more fervour than before, taking the initiative and attacking with a focused will.

No sooner had she downed the last Naga in the area when she heard a roar from the southeast. It was her people. The remaining Naga outside her combat area rushed to the noise. They would be well occupied for quite some time. Grateful, she turned her back to them all, and started searching, quickly.

She stood, panting, in front of the small mound of earth that had sat, undisturbed, since the breaking of Nolkai's people.  
It is then she fully understood that Nolkai knew he would not live.

Solemn, she crouched, reached out and started to dig with her hands. She was the one taking this out, not Nolkai. As her hands dug out the earth, she remembered that another pair of hands, very long ago, were doing the exact opposite. Right here. She wondered what it must have been like for him to bury his things here instead. He had known that he, and perhaps all his people would die.

He had known.  
Yet he had decided to deal one last blow against the tides of time, and leave behind a marker, an indication of his and his people's existence, beyond that of empty walls.  
He left behind his name.  
Was it a 'he'? Did it matter?

Her fingertips grazed a solid surface, and she began to dig faster: a box! Ornately carved with plants and vines on the top, and stylised plant patterns on the sides. Yet more signs of a high civilisation. She lifted it and took it back to her people's outpost, taking the same path she came by. The sounds of fighting had all but ceased, but a certain sense of group duty drew her steps towards the place she had heard her people's roars from. By the time she reached the battle-scene, it had long ended, with every single Naga dead. Her people stood, terrible and glorious in their small victory. Lyceon's deep voice cut the silence:

'Is _**that**_ what you had us sweat and bleed for, child?'

'...' Her grip on the box tightened, and she pointedly marched homewards when he stood in front of her, frowning.

'What is this treasure that you have found?'

She stopped.

'Open it.' The looks from the rest of the squad said the same.

She hesitated. 'I did not ask anyone to do this for me,' she said. 'And also, I am not doing this for myself.'

'Then open it! We have earned this as much as you did. Let us see what you had us all running for.'

Protesting was futile. She set it on the ground, and found its latch. It opened with relative ease. She wondered briefly if it was the same energy that preserved the journal which caused this to happen. Dusting her hands, she looked inside to see that it contained three items: a personal bag; a lantern; and a ring with engravings on its inner rim, all in good condition, as if put there only recently. She reached into the box, and gently took the things out, one by one.

These were simple things, and were what a traveller would have needed. She could see Nolkai's hand in the stitches and decoration of the bag. She placed it on the lid of the box. She took out the lantern, and, finding its wick-dial, gave it a turn, though it would normally require a tinderbox to light it with. It must have been a magically charged lantern, for it lit up as soon as she turned the dial. It gave a good, strong, soft light that had a fair range, good for travelling in the darkness. They all stood in silence. In the hush, she took out the ring. The newness of the items was heartbreaking.

The had ring once had its seat in a warm, living hand. Like the lantern, perhaps, it may have had unseen powers, but it did not feel to emanate any arcane energy. It felt snuffed, rather. As if it had once had a power, a light of its own that had died - with the owner, the giver, or the maker, she could not tell. Its 'spirit' may have died, but its body still had a modest sheen to it, its cool metal solid in the hand, its delicate markings gentle on the eye. The aqua-blue colour of the metal inlay appealed to her tastes. It was among the favoured colours of her people. She took it out and held it up for all to see, and she saw that their reactions reflected her own, but with far more memory and experience behind them.  
The chiselled Draenei faces were grim between the light of the lantern and the encroaching dusk.

'Put them back,' said Lyceon, quietly.

A bag for carrying, and a lantern for finding one's way. Had Nolkai hoped to return to escape?  
No, he had known.  
It hurt. It hurt to carry such personal belongings in a box set there by their owner. It felt as though she were carrying a funeral casket with the deceased in it.  
They would not let this slip, her people. They would show due respect. Would their own rites suffice? Dry tears broke her breath every few steps of the way.

At camp, she went directly to the good scholar and showed him her burden. The Anchorite Paetheus marvelled at its beauty, and was silent at its contents. He took another 'moment' to have a careful look at the ring. The grit of battle and road still upon her, she waited outside in resigned sadness, like one who had seen a dear person die, but awaited the official confirmation by another whose task it was to examine the body. He bade her enter when he was done translating the ring's text.

'It.. was.. a gift,' he said, slowly, turning the lovely thing in his hand as he looked upon it. 'Very fine work,' he stated, almost fondly. 'Do you see? The inscription starts here,' he pointed to the fine lettering divided by a tiny embossed, elongated four-cornered star. He squinted and and read it out, slowly wording the phrase to her:

_"A token for my love to remember me by. May Elune watch over my dear Nolkai."_

She fell to her knees.  
He had lost everything; home, family, and whoever loved him. Or her.  
The one who had given the ring and their love to Nolkai was now nameless. Like all their people, with all their loves and lives.  
It was too much. She frowned. Whoever this Elune was did not apparently do much of a good job watching over them. She shelved questions on that topic for later. She decided to adopt the tale and cause of this person.

Arathai of the Draenei would do her duty, and honour the memory of brave Nolkai and his people.

She stood up, and bowed formally to the Anchorite.

'Scholar, I go east.'

He nodded, then paused. 'But it is almost night. And you will have to cross water, the Naga's realm. That makes for two handicaps.'

'The Naga have just been broken. Best to act quickly, while they are still licking their wounds. Besides, the night will cover me.'

'Light be with you, young warrior.'


	4. 4 - The People of Nolkai

She thanked the Anchorite with another bow, and was just leaving the broken shell of spaceship debris that made up the walls of the study, only to hear,

'And we will go with you, little one.'

It was Vindicator Aalesia, fluid of movement and speech, despite the bulk of metal she carried as armour. Tracker Lyceon was scowling beside her.

'Can't let you have all the fun, now, can we?' the powerfully-built Vindicator Kuros joined in, his armour clanking heavily with each step.

'I do believe that would be most unfair,' the familiar voice of the Anchorite Paetheus startled her from behind. She whirled round to see him in his battle-cloak, staff in hand. He was holding Nolkai's Lantern. 'I wager you might need my services, young ones.'

'A welcome sight,' chuckled one of the rangers. 'Seems we are ready. Off we go.'

Lyceon's squad joined her, without objection on her side or question on theirs, on her quest for Nolkai and his people, but it was a squad no longer. The small group had grown into a platoon of fifty fully armed, seasoned veterans in their respective styles of combat. Owing to a group of this size taking action, a report had been sent to the Exodar regarding the details and purpose of their march. The sun blazed red as it sank into the sea.

They returned again, to the beautiful temple infested by the Naga. First, the stealth fighters went in and thinned the numbers of border patrol guards down to nil. Then the ranged combatants picked off the sentries in high places before they could raise the alarm, all at once, all the while the main body of the platoon moved forward. They tore their way through the remaining Naga forces at the temple, she and her fellow spellcasters burning a path through them with arcane magic till their leaders and their entire forces were decimated. The hill Naga were killed off so quickly and quietly that they managed to reach the shore Naga forces unannounced and unexpected, with similar results. They were bolstered by further magics when they had to cross the water, floating silently over it, under the cloak of an invisibility spell upheld by all their casters. Thus they traced Nolkai's people to the shore, underwater, and further afield to yet another set of isles that could have once been connected as one land to the main isle, perhaps broken by an earthquake, cause unknown.

There they found naught but spirits, yet these spirits could do harm owing to their deep-seated grudges. They were oddly-shaped. These were small, green scaly beasts, but with wings, there was also a vengeful ghost of a fully grown, massive black elder of their kind, whose spirit was only bound to that far-off isle out of sheer hatred, roaring out as it circled the peak of the hill that crowned the isle.

Having reached the isle of spirits by following the traces of Nolkai's people, they came upon a partially submerged tower, just as was drawn on the map that had started this whole adventure. There they found the spirit of yet another creature, one that stood upright, had two long ears like the fel-thirsty enemies on the isle, but had an altogether nobler bearing. The platoon stood still for a while, and when he turned towards them, froze in place as one. Had he seen them? Could he see them? Arathai was the first to speak.

'Are you Nolkai?'

After a pause, the spirit answered with a deep, velvety voice, with much indignation, 'Nolkai? Are you mad? Look around you, mortal. Do you not see that you stand upon sundered earth? Leave this place lest you suffer as my people and I have...'

The Draenei looked at each other, then at the speaker. 'Mortal'? What did he mean? Arathai was not daunted.

'Why do you suffer?'

She realised too late it was a stupid question when the spirit replied,

'Are you blind as well as insane? I am a ghost - a cruel reminder of a civilization that has long ceased to exist - anchored to a land that I failed to protect.'

The Draenei shifted uneasily, their arms and armour making a small sound. The spirit spoke.

'Long ago - ten-thousand years past - I was flesh and bone, just like you. I was prince of this land and a dragon rider, blessed by Ysera of the Dream.'

'Drag-on Rider?'

'Do you not know what a dragon is?' the spirit asked incredulously.

'We come from another planet,' Arathai replied simply.

The spirit must have blinked, for the burning light in its eyes was shut off for a split-second.

'These are the spirits of dragons,' he indicated the small, green, scaly winged things.

Arathai looked. The Draenei platoon looked. For all they looked, the small things did not seem to be very convenient to ride on.

The figure took one look at their faces, and understood.

'Those are whelplings.'

Stares.

'Their young.'

A collective 'Ah'.

'When they grow to about that size,' he indicated the massive brute circling and roaring above everything and everyone else. 'We ride them to battle. Or did. It was a bond between us and the green dragonflight.'

'Dragon-flight?' peeped Arathai.

Everyone else's face repeated the question, silently.

'Yes, there are several dragonflights, each guarding and representing a different aspect of life...What is that?'

'A recording crystal,' the crisply-accented voice of Anchorite Paetheus explained as he set the device onto the ground. 'It will make a copy hologram of you, if you do not mind, sir.'

'A copy ...?'

'Holo-gram. Ah, there we are.'

The crystal scanner radiated out a magenta cone of light, with which it scanned the figure, whose exact replica shimmered over it, precisely mirroring its movements, in less than three seconds.

'Amazing. You are a wonderful folk.'

The entire platoon bowed as one.

'I am Toreth, Prince of Loreth'Aran.' He indicated Bloodmyst Isle.

Silence.

The entire platoon knelt as one, armour making a sound in harmony. The Prince was startled into standing very still in disbelief. In that silent moment, he would have probably choked back the emotion that would have welled up in him, had he still been alive.

'You are a courteous as well as wonderful folk,' said the Prince. 'Rise, noble warriors from afar.'

They all stood again.

He saluted them according to the protocol of his people.

They returned his greeting according to their own.

Arathai was the first to break the silence, against order of age and rank, but with her eyes still to the ground. Her heart was beating fast. This was the leader of the people of Nolkai!

Her eyes shone. She spoke up.

'If it please Your Highness, forgive our ignorance. What is Ysera and how were you blessed?'

Prince Toreth blinked.

'You _are_ new to this land. Have you not heard of Ysera? Guardian of nature? Aspect of the Dream? She is the matron of all green dragons! Aye, it was Ysera herself that gifted my kingdom with her brood. We stood shoulder to shoulder with the noble creatures and they allowed us to ride them into battle against our enemies. All was well for many centuries... until...'

The Draenei focused fully upon him, then. Fifty-one pairs of starlit eyes gazed intently upon him as he spoke. Here came tell of 'the enemy' they had heard of.

The Prince did not falter under their gaze. On the contrary, he took further strength from them, but his visage and voice were grim and bitter.

'Deathwing's brood... Ysera's benevolence raised the ire of Deathwing - patron of the black dragonflight. They attacked us in our sleep! Many died on the initial surge but the greens rose to protect us.'

He made a sweeping gesture around the island.

'The bones are all that remains of the once great dragons. None were spared.'

A silence fell, again. Arathai tried to speak, but her voice broke, and she lowered her head, trying to muffle her sobbing.

'Great and terrible is your loss, Highness,' it was Vindicator Korus. 'So why are you still here?'

The Prince gazed upon his lost realm.

'I was the last to die. As I felt my spirit leaving my mortal shell, I swore a blood oath.' He shook his head.

'A pact was made between this land and I: My blood for this world. I became the sole keeper of the history of my people.' He lifted his gaze, looking out over the horizon.

'I cannot rest until I am secure in knowing that the story of the Dragon Riders of Loreth'Aran is not lost in the passages of time.'

This struck at the heartstrings of the Draenei. They knew all too well what it meant to be displaced.

'You may rest, Your Highness. We have recorded your image speaking your voice in the name of your people. Your story shall be added to the annals of our kind, and be propagated to our allies, who are all of this planet. This, I, Paetheus, Anchorite of the Draenei, do vow.

'As do I, Korus, Vindicator of my people.'

There was a breath of silence, and then the entirety of the platoon then made a vow together, all starting with 'As do I, ...' and each stating their role among their people as one. All but Arathai. She was crying outright.

So this was how Nolkai's people had fallen. 'The Place' now, had also a name, Loreth'Aran. The name alone gave enough of a hint of the past beauty of the place.

'Forgive this little one,' the voice of the Anchorite broke past her thoughts as he lay a hand upon her head. 'Arathai was the one who led us to you and your people. She is a persistent one, and will no doubt spread your tale.'

Prince Toreth looked at the young Draenei, and bowed to her. 'My thanks, Arathai of the Draenei. Long may you live and prosper.'

Arathai looked up at him, eyes bleary. She lowered her head and blinked the tears away, standing upright. "Our people would have gotten along quite well together," she said, voice shaking. 'For you also are a wonderful folk,' and bowed formally to the lost Prince in return, making a silent vow as she did so.

Prince Toreth smiled. 'You may find our cousins, yet. Not all life is lost.'

She looked up, hopeful.

'Indeed, Highness,' the Anchorite said. 'Your tale will be copied and given out amongst our allies. These...Humans,...the...Gnomes..., the...Worgen...and...these...Night Elves..You have our word of honour. If you will permit me, I shall lead a rite of remembrance,' he turned to Arathai. 'Mark the day. We shall repeat this here every year.'

The Draenei all put their hands to their chests, and began to sing a chant led by the Anchorite. The music was eerie, alien and distant, yet it had a certain dignity and sense of hope. The atmosphere around them paled into a barely tangible arc of light. Prince Toreth took a step backwards, before steadying himself. As they sang, the arc of light opened a pathway through the heavens, and he felt his bonds with the earth beneath him weaken.

Could it be? Were they releasing him of his oath?

No, it was not a complete release, but the bond definitely weakened. The chant ended, and they all made a sign before bowing to take their leave.

Over the years, the rite was repeated for the Prince, after an exchange of news of worlds past and present was made. The chief ambassador of this occasion was none other than _An'dora_, 'My child' as Arathai was now known to the immortal Prince. Each year, the Prince's bond was weakened, and heart was strengthened, so he could return to the realm of his first people.

As for the Draenei, many, many more things were discovered and done with many, many more nations of Azeroth. Names were given to things unknown. Bloodmyst, she later found out, was actually Silvergale. The tale of Prince Toreth of the Dragonriders of Loreth'Aran was entered into the annals of the Draenei, as well as the official records of each and every capital of the humans, night elves, dwarves and gnomes. And regarding Arathai herself, it would be not long afterwards that she would discover and embrace the surviving kin of the lost Prince: The Kaldorei, or Night Elves, who were sworn in allegiance to her people. It would seem her intuitive attraction to their culture was not misplaced, after all, for this bond existed as a formal oath of fealty by the entirety of the Draenei. These 'new old friends' as Anchorite Paetheus so fondly described them, had a similar history of their own.

With great power came great responsibility, and equally great greed. The elite of the Kaldorei ancestors had tampered with the way of things, as had the Eredar of her own nation. This they did in obeisance to their rather shimmery, slippery Queen of the time whose tastes in spouses or consorts, and visions of perfection led many peoples to misery, in cooperation with none other but the very same corrupted ancestors of the Draenei themselves, but that is another story.

Suffice to say she has kept Nolkai's Band, and the memory of his people's last stand- ever since that day.


End file.
